


Inappropriate relations

by apicturewithasmile



Category: The Mrs Bradley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Canon Divergence, Choking, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Femdom, George Moody is a repressed sub who needs a good choking, Kink, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, and Adela is all too happy to please, anyway..., it's a bit angsty at first though and then it gets kinky and sexy and sweet, these tags make it sound a lot more hardcore than it truly is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apicturewithasmile/pseuds/apicturewithasmile
Summary: Alternative version of that bedroom scene in "Laurels are Poison". Adela suggests that George could stay a bit longer. He resists the temptation at first and causes an argument but quickly realises the error of his ways and returns to spend the night with her.
Relationships: Adela Bradley/George Moody
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Inappropriate relations

“That’s why I thought I’d better come and tell you what I’ve found out. You know… tonight.”

“Thank you, George.” Adela said, raising one eyebrow and giving him a half-smile while still meticulously filing down the nail of her left middle finger without looking at it.

He tried to mirror her smile, say goodnight and then leave but something inside him kept his feet stuck to the floor and his mouth shut tight. His mind was racing as he was trying to find any excuse to stay just a little bit longer. He’s been in her bedroom so many times before, casually talking about a case, some mysterious murder, or suspicious behaviour, but that always revolved around other people’s delicate secrets, never his or her own. Any talk about personal matters would be reserved for more decent locations such as the Rolls-Royce, where the nature of his position as her chauffeur meant there was always a safe distance between them and adoring glances would be disarmed by way of deflection through the rear view mirror – as would be his desire to be closer to her, to turn around and face her instead of feeling her eyes lingering on the back of his neck as he pretended to look at nothing but the road ahead.

“Is that all?” she asked putting the nail file down beside her and tilting her head expectantly to one side.

George opened his mouth searching for the right words but all he found was one wrong syllable. “Yes.” he said and regretted it immediately. “I mean… no. Or… I guess… yes.”

“Which is it then? Yes or no?”

“I don’t know.”

She stood up from the chaiselongue, its red velvet bearing an imprint left by her behind where the fabric now reflected the light in a different direction. “I believe there’s something you wanted to say.” she said. “Or _do_.”

“It’s nothing, Madam. I’ll better be going.” And with that his feet finally obeyed his orders to turn around on their heels and head for the door.

“George!” she said, her tone nothing like that of a lady speaking to her servant, as it rarely was anyway. But in that moment it sounded even more personal than it normally did, almost intimate. “Stay.”

“I can’t.” he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed at the door. No road ahead to focus on, no rear view mirror to steal a secret glance of her face yet he could still feel her eyes on him long before she placed her hand on his back.

“Why not? It’s what you want, isn’t it? What we both want.” she said and let her fingertips glide up his spine until they reached his neck and he could feel her sharpened nails run through his hair.

He let out a deep breath and caught himself leaning into her touch just for a second before flinching away. “No. It wouldn’t be right. It’s–”

“What?” she said, sounding almost offended.

He spun around, finding himself only inches away from her face as he said: “It’s inappropriate.”

She took a step backwards, shaking her head at his remark. “You’re beginning to sound like one of _them_.” She gestured to her surroundings: an abundant assortment of expensive furniture and art, soulless stand-ins for the high society she meant to be referring to.

“You _are_ one of them.” he said and with that there suddenly hung a heavy silence between them as they were both pondering how to get out of this corner they had pushed each other into. He closed his eyes. When he was a little boy he would cover his eyes and assume it made him invisible to the world. Maybe this time it would work? It didn’t. Eventually he couldn’t take the silence any longer; he leaped for the door handle and without a goodbye, he was outside of her bedroom, closing the door behind him with a loud bang as if hammering it shut, never to be opened again.

At first he didn’t even notice Lady Marchant, clutching her nightgown tightly around her body so as not to risk showing anything that wasn’t meant for the eyes of someone like him.

“I was just…” he stammered.

“Get back to your own quarters immediately!” she commanded.

He knew by the look in her eyes what she must have been thinking about the true nature of his relationship with his employer; her face was so full of disapproval that it only affirmed the painful words he had uttered towards Adela just moments ago. _It’s inappropriate._

So back down towards his quarters he was headed, dreading a short and sleepless night, as well as the next day when he would be back in the driver’s seat acting like nothing had happened. Though technically, he realised, that was true. Nothing really did happen, did it? He didn’t even touch her, let alone kiss her despite the utmost desire to do so.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and began weighing his options. Of course he didn’t want people to think badly of her. However, if doing nothing was enough to make people suspicious then he might as well do something. But what if–

_George Moody, you bloody coward! Go back to her!_

He turned around, ran upstairs again taking three steps at a time, then towards her bedroom door. He reached for the door knob and tried to push the door open but found that endeavour to prove painfully unsuccessful as he slammed his nose against it.

* * *

Adela considered going after him but her pride got the better of her. Instead she turned the key in its lock and sat back down on the chaiselongue, trying to comprehend what had just happened between her and her… chauffeur? Was that all he was to her? Had she really misinterpreted his behaviour during these last couple of weeks and months? Unlikely. The behavioural oddities of human sexuality were one of her areas of expertise as a psychoanalyst and George clearly showed all the signs of what was colloquially referred to as ‘flirting’. But why did he suddenly care so much about what other people were thinking? He wasn’t normally like that.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a dull thud against the door and saw the door knob rattling. She went to unlock and open it just a small gap, enough for her to see most of him yet not enough for him to see much of her.

“Did nobody teach you that you’re not supposed to just walk into a woman’s bedroom without knocking?” she asked.

“I’m sorry. I–”

“What do you want, George?”

“You.” he said without hesitation. “I want you.”

This revelation took her by surprise, not because of its content but due to the way in which it was delivered – so much certainty in his voice, his posture meek but confident.

“A minute ago you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, okay? What’s new?! I…” He looked over his shoulder down the corridor towards where Lady Marchant had gone. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated, only now realising that his quick departure before had actually hurt her feelings. Despite her habit of analysing other people’s emotions she sometimes forgot to pay attention to her own.

“Please!” he said, taking one step closer to her as if there was no solid wooden door separating them, keeping them apart in two different worlds which shall never collide, at least not if they lived by the rules of people like Lady Marchant.

Softened by his pleading Adela let him step inside and closed the door behind him.

“Thanks, Madam!” he said.

“George, if we’re really going to do this you can stop calling me Madam!”

“Of course, Madam. I mean…” He almost tripped over his own tongue, visibly more nervous again now that he was back inside this room. “Adela.”

She liked hearing her name spoken in his voice; it made her smile and she almost forgot about how bumpy their evening had started.

For a moment they just stood there like two chess pieces waiting for someone else to decide their next move for them, until Adela – being able to move in any direction – finally made the decision for herself. She moved towards him, grabbed the lapel of his chauffeur uniform and pulled him close against her body. Her other hand found a gentle grip around the back of his neck, allowing her to lead his face towards hers; a fraction of a moment, merely the blink of an eye, of hesitation before his lips touched hers and they sunk into each other as if they had played this game a thousand times before.

She began unbuttoning his jacket, a mission made only more complicated by the fact that George had his arms wrapped tightly around her waist while taking turns in kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck. As she undid the last button they loosened their embrace just long enough for George to slip out of the jacket and letting it fall to the floor, then another kiss on the lips as if they’ve never been separated.

With a gentle push she made him walk backwards to the edge of her bed where he sat down and looked up at her as she slowly untied and then took off her bathrobe, under which she wore a matching nightgown made from precious silk that seemed to glow in the light of her bedside lamp.

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “What now, George?”

“Anything you want, Madam.”

“I told you: you don’t have to call me that.”

“I know, but what if…” He let his eyes wander away from her, gazing through the room as if in one of its many dark corners he’d find a way to say what was on his mind without embarrassing himself. “What if I like calling you that?”

He had feared that she would need him to elaborate because he really did not know how to explain but as it turned out he didn’t have to. She understood right away and more than that: she seemed pleased.

“Well, if you _like_ it that’s another thing.” Her fingertips trailed down his cheek, along the side of his neck and came to a halt at the collar of his shirt. “When you say _anything I want_ –” her fingers slowly wrapped around his neck, applying just the most subtle amount of pressure while she carefully observed his reaction. “–do you really mean it?”

George nodded eagerly, then he took a deep breath before she tightened her grip and cut off his air supply. He instantly felt the adrenaline rush to his head, making him dizzy and above all: aroused. Only once before had a woman done this to him, not his ex-wife or any of his previous girlfriends but a different kind of Madam, the kind that you didn’t have to fear rejection from when you asked for more unorthodox services as long as you could afford it.

She let go of him and he gasped for air while sheepishly looking up at her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” He allowed himself to take her hand and lead it back to his throat as he begged her in a whisper to do it again. “Please, Madam. Choke me!”

And she did, a little longer this time until his instincts caused him to dig his fingernails into the flesh of her forearm, signalling to her that she had to stop immediately.

“Take your clothes off!” she said.

He did as she commanded, first sliding the suspenders off his shoulders, then loosening the closure of his trousers and letting them sink to the floor. He took them as well as his socks and shoes off in just a few practiced moves, then unbuttoned his shirt and added it to the pile that was building up at the foot of the bed.

“What about these?” She gestured to his underpants. “Don’t be shy. They fail to hide your… _excitement_ anyway.”

Again, he did as he was told, pulled his underpants down and stood stark naked in front of her. The same hand that choked him before was now slowly moving towards his erection but instead of reaching for it like he thought she would, Adela put her hand on his hip and with a slight push made him turn around.

“Be a good servant, George, and bend over.”

“Yes, Madam.”

George was just trying to find his balance on the soft mattress of her bed when her palm landed on his buttocks and caused him to tumble forward. He didn’t register the pain straight away but when she spanked him again – harder this time – it sent a sharp jolt through his body, tingling like a thousand tiny needles underneath his skin. He could feel himself grow harder with every forceful stroke of her hand, the pain transforming into a sense of pleasure he had desired for so long. When he couldn’t take it anymore he rolled over to his side, locking eyes with her, giving a small nod to reassure her that he was alright, that she was doing good.

Her line of sight wandered from his face down across his body, scanning the soft hair that led from his chest to his belly and then further down to where she could see proof of just how much he enjoyed the disciplinary treatment.

“Good boy.” she said, then she climbed into bed beside him, pulled her nightgown up and scrunched the fabric around her waist – thereby revealing to him that she wasn’t wearing a panty underneath it.

His hand caressed the soft pale skin where her thighs met each other, his thumb ever so slightly brushing against the patch of black curls that was covering her delicate folds. Then he took the gathered nightgown from her hands and carefully pulled it up over her head.

As he gently let his fingers tickle down her arms again, leaving a trail of goose bumps on her skin, she swung one leg across his lap and straddled him. Another kiss on the lips, coy as if it was the very first one again, and then with some careful manoeuvring she guided him inside of her.

He was cupping her breasts and tasting the salt off her skin as she rocked her body up and down at an ever increasing pace, her warm wetness making it undoubtedly clear to him that she, too, was enjoying all of this very much.

It had been a while since Adela last made love to a man but she quickly found her rhythm again and when she could see in his eyes that he was moving closer and closer to the edge she wrapped her hand around his throat one more time, clenching it tightly for a few seconds before she let go again.

His gasps for air and the moans of pleasure became one and the same. He wrapped his arms around her dainty body, holding her tight against his chest as he thrust himself deeper inside of her and, after a few more strokes, came to his climax.

“I’m sorry.” he said, still out of breath. “I couldn’t… you know… keep it back.”

She caressed his face and leaned forward to place a kiss on his lips. “That’s nothing to apologise for, George.” she said while climbing off and lying down beside him.

He rolled over on his side, just about to brush a strand of hair out of her face when she grabbed his hand and guided it downwards – along the curve of her neck, over her breasts, across her stomach and finally between her thighs. George began stroking her there, letting his fingers sink into her folds while her hand kept holding his, giving him subtle hints about the kind of motions she enjoyed and the amount of pressure she needed.

“Like that?” he asked, an excited smile on his face, so eager to please.

She nodded eventually and let go of his hand. “Exactly like that.”

His lips painted a path of kisses from her neck to her breasts. Sucking on them softly he peered up occasionally to observe her reactions, making sure she was still pleased with what he did – _exactly like that_. And when he could hear her breathing become faster and her body shiver under his touch, he kept his eyes fixed on hers – determined not to miss the exact moment when she reached the peak of her pleasure.

Out of breath and lost for words they lay beside each other. Her hand was playing with his hair while his head was resting comfortably on her chest.

It was Adela who eventually broke the silence. “Do you still think that was inappropriate?”

His head jerked up, the expression on his face saying clearly that he didn’t expect that topic to be brought up again just yet. He shrugged. “I guess it depends on who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you.” she said. “Do _you_ think it’s inappropriate?”

He shook his head.

“Then why did you say so earlier?”

He considered this for a moment, then sat up before answering. “It’s what they would think of it, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“Everyone. High society, working class – it doesn’t matter. They make up all these rules, don’t they? And expect us all to live by them. Stay in your lane, don’t mingle in places where you don’t belong and don’t even dare dreaming of a different life.” He paused, took a deep breath and turned to face her again. “I don’t care about what they think of _me_ but what about you? If they found out that–”

“I’m mingling in places where I don’t belong?” she finished his thought.

He sighed. “Exactly.”

“I’m a big girl, George. I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. It’s what I like about you.” He smiled at her. Finally relaxing again he gave her a kiss and let himself fall back into the mattress. “And it’s why I came back up here.”

“I’m glad you did.” she said.

“Me too, Madam.” he said, and then softly, quietly, as if only saying it to himself: “Adela.”


End file.
